


Poetry for Psychopaths

by here_be_rabbits



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Gen, Horcruxes, Humor, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/here_be_rabbits/pseuds/here_be_rabbits
Summary: Ginny Weasley is pouring her soul out to her diary again, but said diary is finding it rather dull. Quite frankly, Tom is bored---and funny things tend to happen when Tom gets bored. Terrible? Yes. But funny...
Kudos: 1





	Poetry for Psychopaths

_Tuesday, February 6th, 1993_

_Dear Tom (can I call you Tommy?),_

"Please abstain," thought Tom sarcastically, "unless you want me to move up your date with death." He did not convey the message to the girl. He was supposed to be her confidant, and confidants did not threaten murder or reply sarcastically to pathetic bids for intimacy---which is exactly what this was, obviously.

Ginny continued writing obliviously.

_I feel a bit scared: I did something today that makes me wonder if I'm perhaps a few straws short of a broomstick._

"Undoubtedly," Tom almost snorted (but he did not snort, for snorting was beneath him---even as a teenaged soul-fragment trapped in a young girl's diary).

Instead, Tom responded with:

**_Don't be ridiculous, of course you're not. Didn't you get an E on that Charms quiz last Friday? Very impressive, and much better than that T of Georgiana's, let me tell you._ **

He was half-hoping to make Ginny isolate herself from her associates; fewer people to notice something amiss.

_Well, that's true. I don't understand how she managed to mix-up_ Wingardium Leviosa _and_ Incendio _. Lucky for that frog she pronounced the fire spell wrong._

Tom took a moment to commiserate with her about the idiots of the world.

_But anyway, what happened today was still strange._

_I was walking down the seventh-floor corridor, fully intending to go to lunch, when all of a sudden, I wake up in Myrtle's bathroom and there's blood draining down the sink (isn't that nasty? Reminds me of the wall writing with that chamber of secrets business)._

"What an arbitrary coincidence." Tom thought sardonically.

_So I cleaned up a bit and went down to get some lunch, maybe see Harry,_

Now if he could somehow get to Harry Potter, then he might be able to do something more purposeful, something truly worthy of the creation of a Horcrux.

_but then I met Georgiana, who was coming up the staircase, and she asked "where were you, because you missed lunch?" and then she started talking about the Valentine's day preparations and who likes who---and of course, the whole time I'm thinking 'Oh Merlin, I can't remember the last hour, not one teensie bit.' It was so scary, Tom. I don't know what's going on with me this year. Sometimes I wonder... I don't know._

Tom considered her words. It was acceptable for her to question her own sanity---inevitable, really---but it almost sounded like she was suspicious of him. Not acceptable. This would have to be handled with care.

_**Merlin, Ginny! That does sound scary... I can't imagine how---actually, wait. I can think of one explanation. It's Tuesday: You had Potions this morning, right? And I remember last week, you were studying the theory behind the Forgetfulness Draught. Wasn't your class today going to be the practical?** _

_That's right, and thanks again for the help with potions theory, but---oh! That explains it! Oh no... I must have really messed up the forgetfulness draught! How did that happen? Professor Snape's going to be so cross with me..._

**_Hmm..._ _Well, if done incorrectly, mild memory loss is a risk during the draught's latter stages of brewing_** **_. Any magic to do with the mind is a_ ** **_tricky business, Ginny, and there can be awkward side effects. There was a boy in my year who was so hopeless at memory potions that when he tested his, instead of remembering his day more clearly, he remembered another person's day entirely!---traumatized him, poor boy. Of course, that came from adding horned slugs instead of pickled toads---really, they look nothing alike._ **

_Well, that makes me feel better! Even_ I _wouldn't confuse horned slugs with pickled toads_ _!_

**_Crazy, isn't it? But I know you're good at Potions, Ginny, so you probably just inhaled the fumes of some classmate's failed attempt. Don’t you sit next to Georgiana? Might want to stay clear of that one…_ **

_You know, that makes perfect sense! Oh Tom, you always know just what to say._

“No,” Tom thought, “I always know just what you want to hear.” Really, she was almost depressingly easy to manipulate. Then again, what sort of moronic individual writes in a diary after it writes back? Lucky for him, but also unlucky, as he was forced to listen to her imbecilic ramblings. As if to prove his point, she continued:

_I almost forgot to tell you: The most exciting thing happened in DADA this afternoon! Professor_

_Lockhart---_

Ah yes, the shameful excuse for a Defence professor. Dumbledore seemed to be scraping the bottom of the cauldron with that appointment, and Tom couldn’t help but wonder why…

_\---is planning a Valentine’s Day celebration! He said we could write Valentine's Day cards and have them delivered by cupids!_

Tom felt just a little bit nauseous.

_'Course, everyone knows they won’t be_ real _cupids, just house elves or something dressed up in feathers. They're still going to be amazing though---I can tell!_

Tom had a deep abhorrence of blind faith, and he could tell her silly certainty would be ruthlessly trampled upon, come the 14th of February.

Feathery house elves. Tom was dangerously close to snorting.

_I even heard they sing poetry!_

Now Tom did snort (as much as a soul-fragment trapped in a diary can do so). Merlin, he'd lost control a bit there---what if there had been witnesses? Too many murders and people start getting suspicious.

_I want to give one to Harry, he's so caring and sensitive, I think he'd appreciate it. Do you think so? You know, being a boy and all?_

**_I can't really say I know what he'd like, but I know I was happy to receive a Valentine's Day card from my girlfriend. It had a very sweet rhyme in it._ **

Tom just made that up, he'd never received any cards, period, until he'd started collecting associates (the young Death Eaters), and those only held the ingratiating sentiments to be expected from fools in fear and awe of his powers. Not that he'd want them any other way.

_Well, I'm not his girlfriend of course, but maybe I could use the card to tell him my true feelings?_

**_That's very brave._ **

_I suppose... Not like him though, nothing like offing You-Know-Who..._

If Tom still had a face, it would be twitching. How could a mere baby---inconceivable! Enough was enough. Time to plan a trap for this Voldemort vanquisher he’d been hearing so much about.

_...Besides, I don't know if I can do it. He’ll never like me back. I'm not nearly good enough for him..._

**_You underestimate yourself, Ginny. But perhaps you could send the card anonymously? He would still get the kind words, just without the signature._ **

_Oh, that's brilliant! Thank you, Tom!_

**_You're welcome._ **

There was no way she'd manage anonymity---the girl had no subtlety. She'd probably end up deeply mortified. Tom might feel sorry for her, were he capable of such an emotion. As it was, he just felt a little peaky.

_Do you think you could help me with the phrasing some? I have an idea of what I want to say, but I'm pants at poetry._

“And life in general,” thought Tom, but what he wrote was:

**_I'd love to. Anything for a friend._ **

This was, after all, a golden opportunity for entertainment.

Five minutes later they had composed his masterpiece:

_His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,_

_His hair is as dark as a blackboard._

_I wish he was mine,_

_He's really divine,_

_The hero who conquered the Dark Lord._

Feeling rather satisfied with himself, Tom settled in to wait for Ginny’s inevitable heartbreak and blubbering. Her soul-wrenching sadness would be poured into his pages, and soon he would be strong enough to sacrifice her and resurrect himself from the endless blank pages. Tom would relish his escape from the diary---his moment of freedom, when at last he gets his own body back. His patience would be rewarded, and he would finally see the look on Ginevra Weasley’s face when she realizes she’d been sharing her deepest, darkest secrets with her future murderer. When poor, lonely, overlooked little Ginny realizes that she’s been an accomplice to the murder of her beloved.

The poem, he decided, was appropriately ironic for when he conquered Harry Potter.

* * *

Years later, as a deformed baby lying in the train station of purgatory, Tom reflected on his unfortunate proclivity towards self-fulfilling prophecies.


End file.
